


Marc Appreciation Week 2019: The Week That Was

by BenignCyborg



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Asperger's Character, F/F, Genderfluid Character, Genderqueer Character, LGBT characters, M/M, Marc Appreciation Week 2019, Marinette's in like one scene, My First AO3 Post, Not much in the way of plot, Other, The Art Club is basically a GSA, neurodivergent character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-10 12:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17426267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenignCyborg/pseuds/BenignCyborg
Summary: My submission to Marc Anciel Appreciation Week for @wearemiraculous on tumblr.In the week following his akumatization, Marc struggles with having to work next to the boy he's had a crush on for weeks, as well as his somewhat nosy friends, while trying to sort out emotions over his gender confusion.Cross-Posted to Tumblr, on @friendlyneighborhoodborg.





	1. Day 1: Writing | The First Session

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first-ever published fanfiction, so I'd appreciate it if hate was kept at a minimum. If you do have hate, please do me the courtesy of at least disguising it as constructive criticism.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Miraculous Ladybug. If I did, I'd petition to replace the writers' room with people who care.
> 
> This fic contains heavy mentions of gender dysphoria, something I've never experienced, so it is more than possible I'll get something wrong. Please let me know if I do so I can change it.

_Sunday… by the blue, purple, yellow, red water… on the green, purple, yellow, red grass…_

           Well, no, actually.  He was in a public library, not a park, and the closest thing to a river was a drinking fountain a few shelves to his left.  Still, it was Sunday, and this was the song that was piping in through Nathaniel’s earbuds.

            _‘You’ll love it_ , _’_  Rose had said.   _‘It’s inspired by that painting, the famous one with all the dots.’_

_‘Un dimanche après-midi à l’Île de la Grande Jatte,’_  he had guessed.   _‘By Georges Seurat?’_

_‘Yeah, that one.  It’s about all the people in the painting, and all their troubles getting masked by the artist creating one fictional, perfect afternoon.  And then Act II is his grandson having to deal with creating the same things over and over.  And it’s just…_ ’  There, Rose wiped a few tears from her still-red eyes.   _‘It’s some of the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard.  The same composer wrote Into the Woods.’_

            _‘And Sweeney Todd,’_ Juleka had mumbled from close by.

           Well, he couldn’t argue with Rose.  There were some incredible melodies, and watching the filmed version (at Rose’s insistence) had brought some tears to his eyes.

           It was about art.

           It was about himself, too, in a way.

           In the play, Georges invests himself so far into the fictional world in his painting that he neglects his lover, his family, and even his own life in the end.

           In real life, Nathaniel had gotten so wrapped up in his art that he had started to see everyone else as an obstacle to the creative spirit.

           “Hey,” a voice mumbled.  “Sorry I’m late.”

           Which is how he found himself here, in this mess.

           “It’s no problem.”  Nathaniel glanced at his phone.  “You’re actually early.”

           “I know,” Marc said tensely, quietly slipping into a chair across from him.  “But I still got here after you, so…”

           “Like I said, no problem.  I wasn’t bored.”

           “Oh?”  Marc looked at Nathan’s sketchbook, which was open on the table.  “What are you drawing?”

           Nathaniel regarded his creation.  It wasn’t anything too special: a tree, a river, a bench, all in a park scene done in swooping, curved lines.  The shading was done with a bunch of little tick marks instead of the smooth gradient style he sometimes did.

           “Just a scene,” he answered.  “From this musical I’ve been listening to.”

           “ _Sunday in the Park with George?_ ”

           Nathaniel nodded.  “Yeah, how’d you know?”

           “Uh, Rose – that’s her name, right? – she told me about it.  She said her friend and her dad were in it together.”

           “Yeah, Mylène?”

           “That was it.”

           “Yeah.  She’s been forcing everyone in the art club to listen to the soundtrack for  _weeks_.”  Nath flipped to a different page in the sketchbook.  “You’re the newest member, so naturally you’re her latest victim.”

           Marc gave a weak laugh, but his expression stayed sober.  “So how is it?”

           “Hm?”

           “The play.  Is it any good?”

           “Oh.”  He mulled over this.  “I like it,” he decided, even if he felt that didn’t answer the question.  “It’s a… perspective on the art piece.  Definitely unconventional.”

           “Yeah.”  Marc fingered the hem of his hoodie and bit his lip.  “It is a bit weird, isn’t it?  Writing something that big inspired by one piece of visual art.”

           “Yep.  And I’m now drawing something inspired by that.  Comes back around, doesn’t it?”  Nathaniel cringed, like he always did when he tried to be profound.  Profundity didn’t suit his verbal abilities.

           To his surprise, Marc nodded in agreement. “The cyclical, cannibalistic nature of art.”

           “ _Cannibalistic,_ ” Nathan repeated, amused.  “That’s good. I like that word.  It’s very… blunt.”

           “It’s a strong choice,” Marc agreed. “Connoting something brutish or barbaric.”

           “Works perfectly for art, then.”

           Marc smiled this time.  “Guess it does,” he said.  His voice, to Nathaniel’s perception, seemed to take on some quality, giving it a lighter… texture?

_‘No that isn’t right.  What’s that called?’_  he pondered.  Whatever it was, it was a welcome change from Marc’s usual moody demeanor.  The small smile on his face was uniquely refreshing, emotionally speaking.

           “Kinda like this, huh?” he noted.  “I mean, I was doodling, you wrote stuff for it, and now I’m drawing based off what you wrote.  I’m cannibalizing myself via you.”

           Marc lost his smile.  Nathan suddenly felt bad, like all the weight in the air had fallen in around him.

           “Sorry,” he apologized.  “Forget I… I was trying to be clever, never mind.”

           The heaviness in the room was making it difficult for him to breathe.

           “So…” Marc tried to break the silence.  Nathan winced inwardly at the shift in social dynamic. Apparently, he also winced outwardly, because Marc suddenly started to backtrack.  “I mean, you, um…”  His voice dropped to a timid whisper.  “Oh, shit.”

           Marc made to get up, grabbing the bag that was hung on his chair.  “Wait, no, I’m sorry,” Nath pleaded.

           “This isn’t going to work.”  The writer shook his head.  “I’m sorry for taking up your time.”

           “Look, it’s  _my_  fault.”  Marc stopped moving.  “I’m sorry, I’m just not used to… working with people.”  At the deflated look this received, Nath amended himself.  “I want to, though.  Let’s just give this a chance, okay?”

           “Oh.”  Marc set down his bag and withdrew his journal.  “Uh… okay.”

           “Yeah.  I don’t exactly know how to… do…”  He stopped talking, not knowing what word he could finish with.

           “Collaborations?”

           “Yeah.  I’m not sure… What’s the, um, protocol here?”

           Marc shifted in his seat, playing with the cover of his book.  “I don’t really think there  _is_  a set protocol.”

           “Oh.  Sorry, my bad, I just—”

           “No, you’re fine, I’m the one who should—”

           They both stopped talking over each other. Once again, they merely looked down at their own papers in silence.

           After a minute of this, Nathaniel decided, against his better judgement, to address the elephant at the table.

           “So… Yesterday, huh?”

           Marc continued to hunch over.

           “You got akumatized.”  Not like the superfan was going to judge.  “You really wanted in on this project, huh?”

           Marc shut his eyes tight.   He whispered, “It wasn’t that.”

           Nath was surprised.  “Oh?  Then…”

           “I just wanted to…”  For the first time in the meeting, Marc momentarily lost his tongue. “I don’t know how it got to that. I just wanted to say that you were… and then Marinette just made it about us working together…”  He shrugged, defeated.  “It just sort of escalated.”

           “Oh,” Nathaniel nodded.  “Then we agree.”

           “Huh?”

           “Marinette is terrible at mediating people.”

           “Oh.”  Another smile, much smaller than the first, graced his lips, which his collaborator was grateful for.  “Heh. She really is, huh?”

            _‘Levity,’_  Nathan realized, looking at Marc’s smile.   _‘That’s the word I was looking for earlier.’_

            He wanted to keep the conversation going.  “So… what were going to say about me?  So you can get that out of the way.”

           It took a while for him to answer.  “It’s just… I really like… your art.  There’s just something in it.”  He looked away, blushing with what Nathaniel assumed was embarrassment.  “You seem to really care about it.  Not really in any way I’ve ever seen before.  I-It’s so well-constructed, too, plot-wise.”

           “You think so?”

           “Yeah.”  The scriptwriter rubbed his arm.  “I mean… I’m not an expert, but I like stories that… you know.”

           The cartoonist didn’t know, but he kept that to himself.

           “Why do you, um…”  Marc gulped.  “What led you to… drawing?  And doing stories like this?”        

           “Why do I do this?”  Nath thought about this for a moment.  “I can’t really say.”

           “Okay.”  Marc didn’t push further.

           They continued to sit silently, until Nath once again spoke up.

           “Do you ever feel like there’s something that’s just…”

           His accomplice tried guessing.  “Wrong?”

           “Exactly.”  Nathaniel crossed his arms.  “Something that’s just  _wrong_  with you.”

           “Yeah,” Marc nodded.  “I think that’s normal.”

           “It really isn’t.  Or it shouldn’t be.”

           “I’ll agree on that.”

           “It’s part of why I do this.”  Nath shrugged pensively.  “It just feels right.”

           Marc smiled.  “That’s how I feel about writing.”  He tried to clarify.  “You know, like, constructing words, into sentences and paragraphs and stories. And then you come up with that great sentence, that play on ideas, and it’s just…”  Seeing that his point didn’t really get across, he elaborated.  “I am to words as you are to… let’s say, colors.”

           “I can tell.”  Nath motioned to Marc’s journal.  “From what I’ve read, you’re really an artist with them.”

           Marc blushed again, though Nath couldn’t tell from what.  “You really think so?”

           “Yeah.  Even just talking to you is… well, kind of exhilarating.”  Wondering if that was the right word to use, he backtracked. “Something like that, I guess.  Anyway…”  He closed his sketchbook.  “What do you say we finally start working?”

           Marc’s expression shifted to surprise.  “W-working?”

           “Yeah.”  He got out of his seat and walked around to Marc’s side.  “Show me what you’ve been writing.”

            “O-okay.”  He reluctantly opened his journal.  “Well, it’s not really, um, much, but there’s this thing you did after Copycat that I sort of expanded on…”


	2. Day 2: Hero/Villain | Coping Mechanism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who stuck around and commented, thank you so much for your input. I'm sorry if this is rushed, but I'm posting both Chapters 1 and 2 on the same night, and I still need to finish up Chapter 3.
> 
> Disclaimers were in Chapter 1.

           Monday was a lot smoother than Sunday.  On Monday, Marc had stuff to do, including, but not limited to, school, meetings, and feeling depressed.

           Few strangers would be surprised to hear that he was depressed today.  After all, it had been two days since his little episode, and akuma victims generally had some sort of depressed attitude for a few days after.  Anyone who knew him would be even less surprised; Marc was anything  _but_  the ray of sunshine some of his schoolmates were.

           Getting akumatized was exactly the trauma he didn’t need.

           It was a little bit of the dissociation he had heard other people feel.  Having no memories of the event, watching the news and seeing himself as that stranger was jarring for a multitude of reasons.  He saw him as someone with his thoughts and personality, basically everything that made him himself, only twisted into someone with a killing rage and the means to destroy.  There was a lot of himself in Reverser, and that’s one of the things he tried to ignore from his viewing experience.

           The other thing he ignored was how familiar that experience was, seeing someone with his face and emotions do things only a complete stranger would.  He did often feel like he was projecting himself to the people around him,  with an overwhelming need to stifle his passions to stay normal.  He only felt allowed to act like himself when he was alone with his journal.  Being someone else wasn’t too far off from his normal, everyday life, which is why Reverser’s power-set in particular kinda sucked.

           Then the last thing he tried to brush off was the increasing number of stares he got from people who had never been corrupted. He just hated people looking at him in general.  Including himself, sometimes, and the extra attention was not welcome at all.

           But he was begrudgingly used to getting judged. Judging himself had even become a habit. Every morning, he’d look at himself in the mirror.  He’d feel some sort of emotion, something he hadn’t quite found the right words for yet. It would fall somewhere between “Ugh, not  _him_  again” and “Well, it could be worse.”  He had found that hiding his face was a good way of combating the more extreme end of the scale of loathing, so he had starting wearing makeup.  And he’d do his own face in the mirror until he felt more like “Well, it could be worse.”

           Point is, he didn’t like people noticing him, but he could usually brush it off.

           He didn’t usually take this approach to his writing.  He generally thought the writing was pretty good, especially if no one but him was going to see it.  No matter what, he rarely ever wrote down his own thoughts, or if he did, they were unintended, or buried and disguised as something else.

           His thoughts wandered to the journal in his backpack. The tale of a forbidden love between a hero and a former villain, the kind of workplace romance that scores a high budget and has audiences flocking to the cinema.  A de-evilization gone wonderfully wrong, making the butterfly’s effects on its victim permanent, a blossoming emotions between him the heroine who saved him.

           Starring the dubious alter-ego of one Nathaniel Kurtzberg, and written as the heroine from a first-person perspective.

           God, he wondered what Freud would say if he was living today.

           Thankfully, only one student seemed to have cottoned on that his artistic admiration went a little deeper than conventional, but even then he wasn’t sure if Marinette actually  _knew_  the full-blown extent of his crush.

            _‘Nope,’_  he reminded himself.   _‘Not thinking about that today.  He’s your project partner, and that’s it, and he very obviously has a thing for strong, female superheroes.’_

_‘Well, that’s why you wrote from Ladybug’s POV, isn’t it?’_  he argued. _‘Why don’t you admit what the problem is?’_

            _‘That’s not the problem.’_ He straightened his back.   _‘I know that’s not what the problem is.  And I don’t have time for this right now.’_

           Today, despite his constant state of internal darkness, he was early to school.  And so was a certain redhead artist whose attention he duly attempted to avoid.

           Poorly.

           As per his double-standards.

           Marc shrank as Nathan’s eyes met his and he was waved over against his will.

           He didn’t appreciate being called out like this, especially not in public. But since it was  _him…_ he inched up to him.

           “Morning,” Nath said, smiling.

            _‘Gosh dangit.’_

           Nevertheless, Marc was determined to keep a level head. It may have been true at one point that the wordsmith had maybe possibly harbored some potentially…  _problematic_  emotions for this boy, it was abundantly clear nothing good would come of them.  It was a morose conclusion, as it usually was, but one that had to be reached for both of their goods.  So, he was determined to end his crush on this artist by any means necessary.

           Even if his eyes were clear blue gemstones, teeming with some unseen energy that made him want to keep looking—

            _‘No!’_  he chastised.   _‘Bad Marc!’_

           “You okay?” Nathaniel asked, and Marc realize he hadn’t answered him.

           “Yeah,” he admitted.  “I’m not a morning person,” Marc admitted.  Internally, he mused, _‘Or an evening person.  Or an afternoon person.  Really, I’m barely a person.’_

           Unable to see into Marc’s soul, Nathaniel continued.  “Well, I hope it gets better.”

_‘It rarely does.’_ “You seem to be in a good mood, at least.”

           “Yeah.”  He scratched his head absently.  “Probably not what you expected, huh?  How am I supposed to be emo when I like sunshine?”

           “You seem to be managing yourself just fine.”

           “Thanks, I guess.”  He shrugged off his bag.  “So, we didn’t really do any work yesterday.  Got any ideas for a story?”

           “Oh.”  Marc relaxed, knowing this must be all Nathan wanted from him.  “I hadn’t really given it much thought.  Probably the usual heroes’ dynamic at play.  Ladybug, Chat Noir, and Mighty-Illustrator.”

           Nath looked confused for a second.  “But what about…”

           “What?”

           “Well,” he opened his satchel and pulled out his sketchbook, then he started flipping through it.  “Look, see here.”  He pointed at one page in particular.

           He saw what Nathaniel had drawn.

           He was suddenly aware of  _everyone_ looking at him.

<<<<<>>>>>

           When he came to his senses, he found he was hiding in a bathroom stall.  Someone was banging on the stall door, trying to get his attention.

           “Marc!”  Nathan’s voice carried a deep concern.  “I’m sorry, I should have—I mean, of  _course_ , I’m an idiot!  I just…” He groaned loudly at himself, and his voice softened.  “I’m sorry. I should have realized, it’s too new for you.  It only happened a couple days ago…… Look, you can feel free to hate me, I didn’t think about what you’d…”  He just trailed off and left them both in silence.

           Marc heard him start to leave.

           “How do you do it?” he asked, suddenly.

           “Wh-what?”

           “You turned your akuma into the hero?  Why did you do that?” he demanded.  “How could you do that?”

           Nathaniel didn’t answer verbally.  Of course he didn’t, why would he?  He didn’t like expressing himself verbally.

           There was a rustling of papers and something was slid under the door.

           Marc picked it up.  “Are you crazy?  You put your sketchbook on the bathroom floor?”

           “Just look, Marc.”

           He did.  “This is… Mighty-Illustrator and Marinette.”

            There was a pause, and then, “That’s Super-Nathan.”

           “Huh?”

           Nathaniel explained.  “Super-Nathan.  I told you, I’m not good with words ornames. He was… well, it was me as a superhero. That’s how he was created, and that’s what I drew him to be.  I wanted to be strong and empowered and witty and do all the things superheroes get to do. I don’t know if you noticed this about me, but I don’t… I’m not strong and I’m not witty.”

           “You’re pretty witty.  I mean, you made this.”  He realized something was off with the picture, however.  “Um, I thought he was supposed to like Ladybug, though.”

           “That was only after I was akumatized.”

           “Oh… Wait, so then…  _oh._ ”

           “Yep.  Super-Nathan came first.  Then Hawk Moth turned Super-Nathan into a villain.  Super-Nathan became Evillustrator.  Then I turned him back into Mighty-Illustrator.”  He took a deep breath, and continued forward, his words blazing with a strength Marc hadn’t heard him use before.  “Super-Nathan is  _mine_.  Not his.  I figured this is the one way I can get back at him.  Taking him back, using him to fight Hawk Moth.  Fictionally, anyway.”

           Marc was somewhat grateful for the door in between them.  Nathaniel couldn’t see his completely floored reaction.

           Marc looked down at the sketchbook in his hands. He flipped to the most recently-used page, careful not to look at any of the others.

           The face of evil stared back up at him, striking a heroic pose.

           “We don’t have to use him,” assured the cartoonist. “If you don’t want to.”

           Marc stared back down at himself.  He was only startled out of it when Nathaniel’s steps started walking away.

           “No,” Marc said, stopping him.  “We can use Reverser.”  He hesitated.  “Only… can we change his name?  Like you did?”

           “Well,” his collaborator mused.  “You’re the writer.  And it is  _you_ , after all.   _You_  think of something.”

           Making sure his face was back to its normal pale, Marc opened the door.  And there was Nathaniel.  Marc passed him back his sketchbook.  It was taken with gratitude.  “We don’t have to work today if you’re not up to it still.”

           Marc considered this before slowly nodding.

           “Okay.”  He turned to leave.  “Whenever you’re ready, then, you’ve got my number.”  He stopped at the door, still with his back turned.  “Hey, Marc?”

           A noise of acknowledgement was made.

           “I don’t usually do art for anyone but myself. But…” he searched for his words, which seemed to have left him.   “It-it’s nice to work with someone.”  He turned back and regarded Marc, smiling.  “Especially you.”  Then, looking unsure of himself, he awkwardly made his exit.

           Marc was now all by himself in the washroom, and he was suddenly  _very_  aware of the heat in his cheeks.

           He sighed.  Not out of any particular emotion, except maybe frustration.

_‘Gosh dangit.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I don't have much time to check the site formatting, I've got some work to do tonight. I'll check it tomorrow, once I post Chapter 3. Then, if I'm not too lazy, I'll replace this message with something else.


	3. Day 3: Favorite Ship | Couples Villainy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a much longer time with this one. There's no excuse, I was just lazy. And I didn't even do the prompt right, because story.  
> Comments much appreciated, I'd love to know what I can do to improve this while it's still in the editing phase.

           The third day of their collaboration was technically the first, being the first day either of them got any work done on the comic.  They had spent the school day texting each other ideas for the story, so that when it came time to meet up in the art room after school, they had completely conflicting concepts of what they wanted to do.

           Especially the villains to use.

           “I still think bringing in Frightingale and Guitar Villain  _together_ would be awesome.”

           “Thematically, sure,” Marc argued.  “But think of the power-sets.  They don’t really go together- Frightingale freezes, Guitar Villain makes them dance.”  He scribbled something else down in his notes.  “Consider powers that could play into each other or compliment each other.”

           They sat in the back corner of the room, hunched over one table with their voices low.  Marc had noticed Nathaniel’s classmates come in later, and his friend had introduced them as they did.  Rose and Juleka were on the side of the room, Rose with a little notebook of poetry and Juleka with her bass guitar.  Alix was spray-painting a wall (hopefully with the school’s permission), and the art teacher whose name escaped him watched her warily (suggesting it wasn’t).  More spray cans were stacked near where Juleka was sitting.  Marinette, the only face Marc knew in this club, was absent from the meeting.

           “Such as?” prompted Nath.

           “Well, I can’t actually think of any yet.”  He pursed his lips.  “Dark Cupid and Glaciator?”

           “One breaks up love, one freezes the resultant single people.”  Nathan shook his head.  “You see, that almost sounds kinda gimmicky.”

           “You got a better idea?”

           “We don’t need to pair them up.”  He tore off another sheet from his sketchpad. “Why don’t we let Puppeteer loose in a toy store?  If she finds an action figures section, maybe with the heroes’ figures in it…”

           Marc looked across at him.  “Dude,” he said. “That’s crazy awesome.  But how on earth would the heroes beat her after that?”

           “With the aid of a brand-new, never-before-seen and therefore  _unfranchised_  hero.”  Nath grinned smugly.  “See? I can be clever, too.”

           Even Marc had to laugh at that.  “Cool.  But Puppeteer’s pretty powerless on her own, she’d need a way to get her allies right off the bat.  Does Marinette still make those villain dolls?”

           Nathaniel slapped his page in defeat.  “No,” he said.  “I remember now, I asked her that before.”  At Marc’s questioning look, he explained.  “I was trying to work Puppeteer into a different story.  Forget that one then.”

           “Back to our first problem, then.”

           “It occurs, this is kind of how I work normally.”  The redhead chuckled lightly.  “I get too many ideas that I have to thin them out.  Which sucks, cause I think they’re all good, but I don’t want to do them all.”  He waved a hand dismissively.  “So, uh, welcome to my brain, I guess.”

           “Heh.”  Marc bit his lip anxiously.  “I don’t know if you noticed, but your pink friend is standing right there, listening in.”

           Nathaniel rolled his eyes and turned to face the intruder.  “I told you, Rose, I’m not spoiling it.”

           “Come on,” the girl moaned.  “Your stories are so interesting, Nathaniel, I really want to see what you’re working on.”

           “Right now, we’re not working on anything,” Marc pointed out.  “We can’t even decide which villains we want to use in this story.”

           Nath had an idea.  “Why don’t you help?”

           “What?” Rose gasped in delight.  “You want me to help with the story?”

           “Sure.  We can’t agree on anything.  What do you want to see?”

           “Oh, geez,” she gushed.  “This is so cool!  I get to pick the story!”

           “Hey,” piped Marc, looking at his partner. “Are you sure about this?”

           “Couldn’t hurt.  This is just brainstorming, after all.”

           He shrugged.  “Fine.  Rose, you got any ideas?”      

           “I’ve got it!  You should have a couples’ team-up.”  She clapped her hands together and rocked back on her heels.  “Then even the villains can get a romantic subplot.”

           “But…”  Marc scrunched his face.  “As  _villains_?  But they won’t remember anything.”

           “Trust me,” Rose assured.  “I’ve seen it  _loads_  of times before.  Nothing brings two people together like a supervillain rampage.”  She sighed dreamily.  “So romantic.”

           “If you say so.”

           “I’m serious!”

           “Rose has a point.”  Alix agreed, finishing a yellowish streak on her wall.  “We know a lot of couples who got together after one of them went butterfly. Rust!”  Without even looking up from tuning her guitar, Juleka threw the requested color over to her.  “Even the first one we had, over a year ago, Stoneheart.  The whole reason he got corrupted was ‘cause he couldn’t spit out his crush and he was getting picked on for it.  Ivan and Mylène have been sickeningly saccharine ever since.”

           “ _And_ ,” Rose added, “don’t forget, they had their first kiss after Mylène was akumatized.”  

           “ ‘Scuse me,” Marc butt in.  “This is the same Mylène that’s in that play with her dad?”

           “Uh-huh.”

           “She  _and_  her boyfriend have been akumatized?”

           “Yep.  Her dad, too.”

           “ _Cripes_.”  Marc surveyed the room.  “You know, there’s a lot of rumors that come from your guys’ class.”

           “We’re aware,” Alix drawled, dropping her current can for a silver can in the row next to her.

           “So?”  Nath waited for his partner’s approval.  “Couples?”

           “Well…”  Marc gave in. “That’s still a better idea than what we’ve got.”  He turned up to Rose again.  “Have anyone in mind?”

           “Do Mylène and Ivan!”  She frowned suddenly.  “Or no, wait, Ondine and Kim!  No, Nino and Alya!”

           Marc blinked.  “You know an awful lot of past akumas.”

           “Well, everyone in our homeroom has been akumatized, so…”  She nodded.  “Yeah, we know a lot.”

           Marc gaped, aghast.  “E- _everyone?_ ”

           “Well, all but two.”  Rose suddenly found herself conflicted.  “Oh, no, I’m rooting for them to get together, but I don’t want  _them_  to get akumatized…”

           “How have all of you gotten akumatized!?” he exclaimed.  “I’ve heard of your class, I thought you were the ones with the big emotional support thing going on!”

           “Well, that was only  _after_  we got akumatized,” Alix explained.  She squinted.  “Whose idea for a word was ‘akumatized?’  That’s such a mouthful.”

           “Okay.”  Exasperated, he threw up his hands. “Seriously, what’s the deal here with your class?”

           “Well.”  Alix slid off her mask and stepped back to appraise her wall.  “You ever met Chloé Bourgeois?”

           Marc tilted his head.  “Once or twice.  Wasn’t she that kinda bratty girl who failed superhero-ing so badly she only got her second chance so she’d stop bragging about it?”

           “Hah!”  Alix shouted. “If only.  No, she’s still bragging about it.  Yellow!”  She held out her hand, waiting for someone to toss it to her, until she realized it was already in the pile at her feet.  “She’s in our homeroom, too.  And she’s been the cause for… oh, I think everyone but Ivan, Max, Lila and Nino.”  She uncapped the can and shook it.  “Like, two-thirds, including the teacher, and not counting people outside our class.”

           “Hang on,” Juleka challenged as Alix widened her yellow streak. “What about you?”

           “I blame her indirectly.  Dark Green!”  She caught it without even looking at her.  “You know, Rose, you didn’t get a girlfriend from  _your_  akuma.  In fact, if I recall correctly from the zillion times you’ve told the story, you and Juleka going out had nothing to do with the supervillain drama.”

           “Oh, yeah,” Rose realized.  She thought about this for a moment, looking at Juleka as if appraising the foundation of their relationship.  “Well, not every romance has to start like that, I guess.”  She snapped her fingers.  “Hey, but if you have Princess Fragrance in your big issue,” she leaned across the writers’ table for emphasis.  “I’ve got a request.”

           Nath rolled his eyes.  “Let me guess, you want her to team up with Reflekta?”

           “ _Heavens_  no!”  She got back on her feet and lowered her voice.  “Look, Juleka… doesn’t like Reflekta a lot.  I mean, she’s gotten a lot better with making herself more visible, but…”  She glanced back worriedly as Juleka stood up, having heard the conversation up to now. “It’s more out of resentment than anything else.”

           “Resentment?” Marc repeated, confused.  “How so?”

           “Nathan got to weaponize his passion,” Juleka stated.  “Rose was a twisted fairy-tale witch.  Even Sabrina got poetic justice.”  She crossed her arms, scowling to the side.  “I just made people look different, and I was decked-out in  _fuchsia_.”

           Rose nodded, and added for Marc’s benefit, “She… hates fuchsia.”

           “I would have looked killer in red.”

           “Yep.”

           “Or purple, my signature.  Or I could have made pink creepy again.”

           “I know.”  Rose tried holding her arm, attempting to quell Juleka’s escalating tone.  “We know, sweetie.”

           “Just not all three of them.”  She looked behind her, scanning the room.  Marc noticed that the art teacher must have left the area moments ago. Juleka turned back.  “Who’s  _fucking_  idea was it to take those colors and think, _oh, let’s mix those together, that’s a nice shade.  Let’s put it on this goth girl with heels and a fluffy rubber skirt._ ”

           Rose winced at the swear.  “She’s still not over it.”

           “I had  _eyelash jewelry,_  Rose!   _No one_  can look threatening with eyelash jewelry!”

           “I’m sorry you all have to see this.  I swear, she hasn’t had this rant in months.”

           “I…” Juleka looked back at the sound of the door opening and saw the art teacher come back.  She lowered her voice to a grumble.  “I mean,  _everyone_  got some awesome dark side alter ego, and I didn’t.”  She started walking back to her bass.  “I got the absolute bottom of the barrel.”

           Everyone was still looking at Juleka after her outburst, so no one was looking at Marc.

           Marc’s face was a deathly pale.

           Words she had used flew through his head, replaying over and over and over.

            _‘Fuchsia.’_

_‘Heels.’_

_‘Fluffy Skirt.’_

_‘Eyelash Jewelry.’_

_**'R** **eflekta.’**_

**_‘Made people look different.’_ **

           “That was  _you?_ ” Marc squeaked, slamming a hand over his mouth.

           Rose looked at Marc strangely.  “Are you alright, Marc?”  

           “I…”  He tried to come up with an excuse.  “Excuse me.”

           He kept his head down as he escaped the classroom, choking down something threatening to come up from his stomach.

           He kept his head down walking into the washrooms, struggling to bring his breathing back under control and calm his anxiety.

           He only brought his head up to look at himself in the mirror.

            _‘Ugh, not_ him _again.’_

           It was that feeling again.  The one he didn’t have the right words for.  The one that came on fast and strong, but left soon after.

           He thought he knew what it was before, but he had been wrong.

           Someone opened a stall behind him.  Fine, let him look at the creep glaring at himself in the—

           “Marc?” Marinette called out, voice laced with worry. “W-What are you doing here?”

           Marc’s eyes widened in horror.  “I—” he stammered, clutching his journal like a lifeline. “I’m sorry, I’m in the wrong—”  He gave up trying to speak and he bolted.

           And he ran out of the girls’ washroom and back outside into the courtyard.

           And he fought down the pangs of hurt that told him no, he  _wasn’t_  in the wrong place.

           And he didn’t stop until he was back at the art room.

           “And anyway,  _he_  hasn’t been akumatized yet, but wouldn’t it be sweet if the Gamer went to him and—”  Rose stopped her rambling when Marc re-entered, two events which were to Nath’s relief.  “Oh, Marc, you’re back!” she chirped.

           “Is something wrong?” Nathan asked.

           “Yeah, I’m fine.”  Marc’s eyes widened and he corrected himself.  “I mean, no, nothing’s wrong.  Let’s uh…”  He tried to remember what the conversation was.  “Let’s do Rose’s first idea.  Her and Juleka, but not with R—” he gulped, too many emotions cluttering up that name for him to mention safely.  He managed to choke “Reflekta” out, and he hoped no one understood.

           “Uh… sure.”  Nath shrugged.  “I’ve never tried  _making_  an akuma before.”

           “ _Oooh_ ,” Rose agreed.  “That’s an even  _better_ idea.  Let us know if you need help.”

           Rose left to rejoin her girlfriend, and Marc meekly took his seat again, shakily opening his journal.

           As Nathaniel started doodling up concepts, Marc sat across from him, doing nothing except idly rubbing his hands together.

           His hands.

           His arms.  His neck.  His chest.  His legs.  His face.

           His  _him_.

           Why did it all suddenly make him want to scream?


	4. Day 4: Rainbow | Color By Numbers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I don't think I'm ever going to actually "complete" this in the seven-day period. Probably what I'll do is go back, once the week is over, and fix everything I felt was rushed or badly-worded.
> 
> Anywho, enjoy my interpretation of the prompt. There's no mention of a rainbow here, I just basically typed out everyone's interpretation of Marc's "Rainbow."

            “Alright,” Nathaniel surveyed.  “I don’t have a lot of homework tonight.  I can do the line-art up to page 3 while you’re settling the specific dialogue.”

            Marc looked at the sketchbook.  Nathaniel had filled in about five full pages with incredibly detailed pencil sketches, including multilayered shading, during the hour they had been sitting here.  On top of this, he’d created many new reference sketches for the two villains – Princess Fragrance with an updated costume, and the newly-created Ghostlight – as well as some new action poses for Reverser (Marc decided to keep the name after all).  It looked like something out of an actual, professional superhero comic, and he had the gall to sit here and claim he could only ink half of it.

            This boy was going to be the flipping death of him.

            “You’re really good,” he said before he could stop himself.  “I mean… you’re going to be famous one day.”

            “Hah.”  He shook his head and leaned back in his chair, smiling.  “No, I’m not there yet.  Maybe you, though, one day.”

            “N-no.”  Marc retreated into himself.  “I’ve just been writing what you told me.  It’s _your_ story.”

            “It’s a crap story.”

            “No, it’s not.  It’s a great story, and it’s yours.  You’ve got great art, awesome designs, and the only weak thing here is my writing.”

            “You see,” Nathaniel said, sitting back up.  “That’s where you’re wrong on everything.”

            “You could’ve had the story without me,” Marc stated.  It wasn’t even an argument or an opinion in his eyes- it was just fact that Nathaniel was a better creator. “Just saying, you should have found someone better.”

            “Well, look at this.”  Marc’s journal was snatched out of his hands, despite his protests.  Nath pointed out the section Marc had already shown.  “This is emotional stuff, you hear?  Reverser gets de-akumatized, he runs away when he doesn’t change back and Mighty-Illustrator finds him.”  He skimmed down the paragraph.  “All these parallels you drew between them, being the only ones to stay powered up even uncorrupted, all this, this _depth_ you gave them that I never even thought they could have.”  He slammed down the journal and stared him down.  “This scene would be _meaningless_ without your dialogue.”

            “It’s just words.”  Marc’s voice was weaker now.  “That’s all I’m good at.  And it was your story.  You set everything up, I just filled in the blanks.”

            “All you’re good at?”  Nathaniel released the journal from its captivity.  “Sure, fine, okay.  Words are all you’re good at.  And words were all _Shakespeare_ was good at.  It was all _Dumas_ was good for.  Everything _Tolkien_ was good for.”  He pointed at it.  “This is just… you’re incredible, okay?  Seriously.  And trust me, once they see it, _everyone’s_ gonna agree.  Then you’ll get the appreciation you deserve.”  He started placing his sketchbook, pens, and pencils into his bag.  “Now take a rest, man, you deserve it.  I’ll keep you posted.”

            It was one of Nathaniel’s many attributes.  He was so adamant that people he admired had a worth that exceeded his own, Marc had to wonder how he didn’t realize his own abilities.  No, drawing was just a thing he liked to do, never mind that he was so good at it.  Nathaniel seemed more interested in Marc’s contribution to the project, something Marc hadn’t expected from his first impressions.  Now his friend was trying to moderate his wellbeing?

            Marc found himself unable to say no.

            Here he was, a trashy gay mess of a thing.  If Nathaniel kept up with his talent and humility and his whole coolest-person-on-the-planet deal, Marc would _never_ shake his crush at this rate.

            Elsewhere in the room, Rose walked into the art room and made her way towards Juleka, who was tuning her guitar.  “Sorry Julie,” she apologized.  “I looked all over the classroom, and I couldn’t find your mirror anywhere.”

            “Really?” Juleka smirked, guitar on her knee, flashing the chain that was on her wrist. “What a surprise.”

            “Oh!”  Rose looked at the accessory in surprise.  “You found it!”

            “It was in the locker room.  I went down while you were across the hall.”  From behind her bass, she withdrew a small black box with a pink ribbon.  “I grabbed this, too.”

            Rose’s eyes widened at the unexpected object.  “Julie, what _is_ this?”

            “An early surprise.”  The goth unstrapped the guitar to stand up and hand the present over.  “I know our six-month anniversary isn’t till Saturday, but…”  A wide smile spread across her features.  “Well, I couldn’t wait.  I had to see your face when you opened it.”

            Rose looked at it in surprise.  “For me?”  She hesitantly picked it up from the gloved hand.  “Julie, you shouldn’t have.”

            “Oh, I kinda did.”  Juleka waved a hand dismissively.  “Considering you’re _always_ getting me things, I had to return the favor somehow.”

            “No, you didn’t,” she argued, loosening the bow on top.  “You’re more than enough already.  I always feel like I’m in _your_ debt.”  She almost dropped the box once she opened it and saw inside.  “Oh.  My.  God.”

            Marc stopped packing up to look across at the two.

            Rose gingerly fingered the sterling chain, hypnotized by the charm.  Marc couldn’t see it from his vantage point, but it was a small heart, the size of a coin, with spiked silver-colored bat wings coming off of it.  The heart was set in a chrome border, cast resin of swirling dark pink.  “Did you make this yourself?

            “Luka helped with the metalwork.  It’s not real silver, it’s tin, but… well, there isn’t really a difference.  You outshine both the same.”

            Rose stifled a laugh, unable to stop herself from tearing up in euphoria.  She rushed Juleka and enveloped her in a hug.  “I love it!  I’ll wear it every day!”  She quickly clasped it around her neck.  “I love you so much!”  Rose forcefully pulled her face down (the downside of dating someone a head taller than her) and crashed into it.

            Marc stared at them, wondering what it’d be like to hold _Nathaniel_ like that and kiss _him_ like that.  And for just a second, watching their young love, he let himself dream that his crush wasn’t such a bad thing.

            “Oh, _come on_ ,” Alix groaned, breaking the spell.  “Teacher!  They’re at it again!”

            The girls separated, blushing when they realized they had an audience.

            The art teacher sighed.  “ _Alix…_ ”  He got up from his seat.  “Girls,” he reminded, “you _did_ say you had a lot of work to do.  I can only keep the room open for another half-hour.”

            Rose sighed.  “Yes, Mr.—”

            “Hey, Marc,” Nathaniel nudged him out of his observation.  “You okay?  You should get some rest.”

            “I’m fine,” he assured, waving a hand towards the pair.  “Just, uh… researching our subjects, I guess.”

            “Oh yeah.  Rose and Juleka.”  Nath nodded.  “They’re interesting, alright.  Part of the reason I agreed to do them for the comic.  That reminds me, we should really start thinking about how we’re introducing Juleka’s new villain.”

            “Their dynamic is really weird.  Juleka’s normally really quiet.  But when she’s talking to Rose, it’s so much easier for her to talk.”

            “You noticed that too, huh?”

            “They’re…”  Marc bit his lip.  “They’re really happy, aren’t they?”

            “If not, they sure fooled me.”

            “Then…  And they get to be themselves.”

            Nathan looked at them.  “Yeah,” he murmured.  “Good for them.”

            Rose and Juleka wrapped up, and Rose walked over to the Graphiti Gurl (as she requested it be spelled).  “That wasn’t very nice, Alix.”

            “I’m sorry,” Alix grunted, doodling in her homework.  “I’m not in the mood today.”

            “I’m sorry to hear that.”  Nevertheless, she persisted.  “But you could have said nicely if we were bothering you.”

            “Probably.”  She looked up.  “I wasn’t in the mood for that either.”  They looked at each other for a moment.  “Don’t look at me like that.  I’m an ass, it’s in my genetics.”

            “Right next to the ace gene?” Juleka asked.

            “Oh,” Alix grinned, “you bet your bass it is.”

            “You okay?”

            “Yeah, just not terribly into everyone’s hyperromantic bullshit today.”  She closed her workbook.  “No offense in particular to the lovely gay couple in here.”

            Marc suddenly found himself speaking.  “It’s not as if their love is a hindrance to your life.”

            “It is a little in my case.”  She turned to Marc.  “But it’s not cause they’re gay, if that’s what you’re thinking.  I’d be just as moody if a straight couple did what they just did.  I’m just not a lovely person.  It always seems so fake, the way they people those things, and it gives me a weird sense of… _squick_.”  She shuddered.  “I’m aromantic, if you didn’t know.”

            “Sorry?”

            “I don’t fall in love.  Aromantic/Asexual, I don’t even get crushes.”

            “Huh.”  Marc sat down closer to her.  “I didn’t know that was a thing.”

            “Not many people do.  It’s the more obscure end of the sexuality spectrum.”  She gestured all around them.  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but almost everyone in this room is queer.”

            “R-really?”

            “Yep.”  Alix cracked her knuckles and stared him down.  “That better not be a problem, Shakespeare.”

            “No, I… I just thought there was supposed to be some… ten-percent statistic or something.”

            This elicited a laugh from the punk.  “Marc, Marc, my dear Marc,” she put her feet up on another chair.  “We are _Parisian_.  We _are_ the ten-percent statistic.”

            Marc was overwhelmed with yet another emotion he couldn’t name.  “So,” he stalled.  “You’re all… gay?”

            “Queer,” Rose corrected.  “That’s the blanket term.  You already know Juleka and I are dating, right?”

            “Well, yeah, but—”

            “Well, I’m bisexual.”  She put a hand on the taller shoulder and leaned into her.  “And she’s a lesbian.”

            “I noticed.”  Marc did a double-take.  “Wait, hang on, did you say _everyone_?”

            “Well, everyone but you, maybe.  Even the art teacher’s out.”

            “So, what about…”  He turned to his writing partner.

            Nathaniel realized everyone was looking at him.  “Um… I don’t…” he buried his nose into Marc’s writing journal, masterfully evading whatever question they were going to ask before they asked it.

            “Forget it,” Alix said.  “He’s gone statue again.  I can never get anything out of him like this.”  “Hey, anyone see where the art teacher went?”

            “It’s 16:30.”  “He must have left.  Guess we can leave now.”

            “Alright.”  Alix scooped everything into her bag.  “Later, losers.  Nate?”

            Nath left with her.  Marc walked out as well, Rose and Juleka at his heels.

_'Everyone in here is different,’_ he mused.  _‘Like me.  Could I…’_

            “Hey Shakespeare,” Nath stopped him.  “Your bag.”

_‘Shoot.’_

            Marc ran up to catch the closing door.  “See you tomorrow, he called, retreating back inside.

_‘Maybe one day.’_

            “Rose,” beckoned Juleka, at the base of the metal stairs.  “You coming?”

            Rose bit her lip nervously.  “Behind you, my love.”  She turned back towards the room.  “I’ll catch up.”

<<<<<>>>>> 

            He stuffed everything into his sack, and he was about to leave when…

            “Rose?” he asked, looking at the girl in the doorway with confusion.  “What are you doing here?”

            “I think we need to talk.”

            “… about the comic?”

            “About you.”  She stepped forward.  “You’re acting really weird.”

            “Uhhh…… this is how I normally act.”

            “And it’s really weird.  You flipped out about Juleka yesterday, and today you were kinda staring at us, and you were interested in our dating preferences.”  She gave him a sharp poke in the ribs.  “You don’t have a _crush_ on my girlfriend, do you?”

            “N-no,” Marc yelped.  “I-I don’t.”

            “Then why are you stuttering?”

            “B-because you’re… really close up, it’s actually kind of uncomfortable.”

            “Oh, sorry.”  She backed away.  “Let’s see, then… it’s something about a crush, though isn’t it?  I’m _really_ good at telling when someone has a crush.”

            “I-I don’t want to—”

            “Come on, I won’t judge—”

            “Please, Rose, can you just _drop it!?_ ”

            Rose quieted, shocked at Marc’s rise in volume.  He instantly regretted his tone.

            “I’m sorry.”  He panicked. “Oh, geez, I’m sorry.”

            “It’s okay.”

            He stood there, letting the atmosphere soak up the noise.  Then, with his voice so low he might as well have stayed silent, he mumbled.  “I like boys.”

            “Oh.”  Rose smiled sympathetically.  “I… That can’t have been easy for you.  I promise, it doesn’t make a lick of difference.”

            She held out her hand.  “Friends?”

            Marc stared at it.

            For the first time in his life, there was someone who was queer, and who knew _he_ was gay, and who… wanted to be his friend.

            Here, in front of him, was someone who might know what was wrong with him.

            “Is it… normal?”

            Rose smiled.  “Yes.”

            “Not that.”  He summoned his courage.  “Is it normal for… for gay men to… not feel like men sometimes?”

            That was it.  The leap of faith.  Either he was normal, there was something in his life that could even be _considered_ normal, and he might be able to live with that.

            Rose wasn’t smiling anymore though.  Her eyes had gone wide, and she was looking at Marc with dismay.

            “I… I don’t think so.”

            Marc _shattered_.

            “Why do… why do you ask?”

            “Because I’m fucked up.”  He fell back onto the box, clutching his arms and hunching over.  His hollow eyes started dripping black mascara, spilling over from an over-filled heart.  “Because I’m not normal, and I like boys instead of girls, and sometimes…”

            Rose didn’t answer, or bid him continue, or say anything that could help him determine how she’d react.

            He sniffed.  “Sometimes… I think I’d feel better if…”  He was just waiting now, any moment, Rose was going to turn and walk away in disgust.  “It’s-It’s fucking _crazy_ , but…”  

            Rose put a hand on his shoulder.  “Hey…” she whispered.  “You can let it out.”

            With one final push, and the reassurance he needed, he forced himself to.

            “Sometimes I want to be a girl!”

            Rose hugged him.  Marc weakly returned the embrace, burying his face into her shoulder.

            “There, there,” she consoled, a voice genuinely caring about his trouble.  “So is that why you freaked out when… oh.  Reflekta zapped you, didn’t she?”

            Marc sobbed a little.  Rose held him tighter.

            The pain was getting too big to ignore now.

            He shifted in his seat and Rose let go.  “But just, like,” he blubbered.  “I’m fine, a lot of the time.  Being me, being a boy.  It’s just sometimes… not all the time, but sometimes I wish my chest was bigger and I didn’t have a—”  He looked up, blushing.

            Rose got the picture.  “Oh, buddy… Is that it?”  She took a deep breath.  “Well, I can’t say I know much about dysphoria, but I guess—”

            “Does it even count as dysphoria?  If I don’t feel it all the time?”  He grabbed at his hair, the stress overcoming him.  “And that’s not even all of it… sometimes I just feel _wrong_.  No matter how much makeup I put on, how _feminine_ I look, it’s always _wrong_ , like _nothing_ I can do will make me look right.  And sometimes, the more I use, the less it works.  And it feels like I’m missing some crucial detail, but I don’t know what, and it just leaves me feeling… empty.”  He covered his face with his hands.  “I feel like that now.”

            “I’ve done some reading online,” Rose said.  “Dysphoria hits in different ways sometimes.  If you’re a girl…”  She trailed off, surveying him.  “If you’re actually a girl, you shouldn’t force yourself to be a boy.  That could really be bad for you, with the coginate… distance – _shoot_ , I heard Max say it once.  When you try to accept two different things at the same time?”

            “Doublethink?”

            “Sounds right.  Maybe.”

            Marc chuckled ruefully.  “So you think I’ve tricked myself into being a boy?”

“Maybe.  Whatever it is, I’ll help you.”  She caressed his shoulder again, offering her comforting touch.  “You can be yourself, Marc, no one can take that from you.”

            “Trust me.”


	5. Day 5: Blush | An Unchanging Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I even using the prompt anymore? I wrote this to be the one chapter in which Marc DOESN’T BLUSH.
> 
> Also, this might be the longest one. I didn’t pace this very well, and I am unfortunately very wordy. If you haven’t noticed, I tend to use long words and longer sentences.
> 
> Disclaimers were on Day 1.

           Marc crept silently to the back of the school.  Rose was waiting there with a small case.

           “Are you sure about this?” he asked her.

           “Nope.”  She held up a sponge and a bottle of makeup.  “Let’s do this.”

<<<<<>>>>>

           He slammed the bathroom door shut behind him, hunched over the toilet, and only barely managed to keep from hurling up his guts.

           It had seemed like such a good plan to Marc at first: one that seemed like it might finally resolve his confusion. Look like a girl, and go through the day looking like a girl, and soon enough he’d feel like it.  Rose had been very thorough with the makeover, extending his coal-black hair to back-length, liberally applying pale foundation, colorful contour, and, most damning of all, dark blush and ruby-red lipstick.

           “She” made it halfway through first period before the pressure started to blow.

           “I can’t do this,” Marc mumbled in his half-crazy stupor, tugging at the… no,  _“her”_  stupor, tugging at  _“her”_  extensions in  _“her”_ hair.  With an effort, he tried to shove “she” into his head, but it was no use.  The “he” wouldn’t budge.

           He wasn’t a girl, even though he now looked like one.

           Rose was wrong.   _He_  was wrong.  That’s all he was: he was just  _wrong_ , and he would never,  _ever_  be right.

           He bolted out of the stall, grabbed a paper towel and stuck his face in the sink, barely wincing as the water and eyeliner stung his corneas. He attacked the face with the towels: no more lipstick, no more liner, foundation, contour, no more fucking  _blush_!  Everything remotely girly needed to get the hell off his damn face  _now._   He scrubbed until his face had turned red, and, with a cry of rage, he ripped the extensions out of his hair.

           He couldn’t tell whether the red shade on his eyes was from irritation, force, or anger, but at least they weren’t on some  _girl’s_  face.  Of course, Marc couldn’t go back to class like this.

           Taking a deep breath, he resolved that it was better to do what he had always done.

           Ignore the pains, force them down, and keep being normal.  No one needed to see his emotions.

           He looked once again at himself in the mirror, his face for once devoid of makeup.  But it could have been worse.

           Five minutes later, once he decided he could go back, he looked at the door and saw that he had stumbled into the boy’s restroom.

<<<<<>>>>>

           Marc sat numbly through the rest of his school day. He’d limped back into first period looking like his usual dour self, and none of his classmates had commented on his earlier freak-out.  Mrs. Mendeliev, thankfully showing  _some_ decency, didn’t offer punishment.

           Marc refused to change his face after that.  Better let everything stay inside, where he didn’t have to acknowledge it, so no one could make fun of him for crying.  Because, of course, that’s the only thing his emotions would ever let him do at this point.

           He could try forever and nothing would work, and he’d be doomed to sit on the fence, torn between the extremes that plagued him.

            _Nothing_  worked.

           “Dude!”  A voice called him out of his stupor.  In his fugue state, his day had gone by so quickly that it was already lunchtime.  Without noticing, he had drifted into the empty art room, and it looked like Nath’s friend Alix had followed him.  “Oh, thank goodness you didn’t kill yourself, man.” It was an odd way to greet an associate, and Marc realized why she used it.

           “How much did Rose tell you?”

           “Enough to piss me off.”  She threw her hat onto a table, grabbed his head by the sides, and surveyed the damage.  “You’re not wearing makeup.  I take that means it didn’t work.”

           “No,” he mumbled voicelessly. “It didn’t.”   _‘Nothing ever did,’_ he thought, but he kept from saying this out loud, for fear that he might let something else out with it.

           “Oh, that just  _figures_ ,” she steamed.  “You should have told us.   _All_  of us.”

           “I’m sorry.”   _‘But it’s not like you could do anything.’_

           “I’m not angry.  I’m just disappointed.  Not at you, I mean, you wouldn’t have known.” Alix gripped Marc’s shoulders, gnashing her teeth.  “But Rose  _really_ should have known better.”

           “It’s not Rose’s fault,” he defended, because it was the least he could do for her.  “I’m the freak that no one knows what to do with.”

           “That may be.”  She stormed towards the window, gesturing outside with one hand as she pulled on her hair with the other.  “But  _she’s_  the one who tries to be too helpful all the time.  She won’t take no for an answer if she thinks someone needs her help.  And her idea of ‘help’ is maybe a little too optimistic, so the kind she does suggest usually has a very slim chance of working.  Basically, I’m sorry you ended up listening to her.”

           “What’s the difference!?” he snapped.  “Nothing’s ever going to work!  I’m not going to fix myself!  I can’t be a girl when I’m supposed to be, I don’t even know if I’m supposed to…”  He stomped to the center of the room.  “I can’t do  _anything_.  Look, just give up on me, and Nathaniel can find someone else to finish the comic, and they’ll do a  _hell_ of a lot better than me cause at least  _they_  won’t  _fall apart_  on the  _first!  Fucking!  Thing!!!_ ” With that, Marc dropped to the floor in a crouch, facing away from Alix, and dipped his head under his shoulders.

           Alix should have just walked away.  He was a lost cause, one that didn’t want her pity, and he should’ve just been left alone.  Contrary to Alix’s assessment earlier, he didn’t have any intention of killing himself quickly.  He’d saved more people unnecessary grief over his sake, and still achieve the end result if he just left instead.  He could leave quietly, and it would be like he was never there.

           “Rose is right,” Alix said instead.  “About one thing.”  Marc didn’t move.  “Living openly like this  _shouldn’t_  be this big damn clusterfuck, but it  _is_ , because society hasn’t caught onto the fact that we’re real yet, so we’re screwed over before we know what’s happened to us.”

           He didn’t change.

           “Because of that, we all find ourselves struggling to find something to smile about.  And us kids especially, because now’s the point in our lives where everyone is telling us what we have to be.  Sometimes just  _knowing_  what you are, and knowing that it’s something real that other people have to go through…  sometimes that’s all you  _can_  do, and sometimes that’s enough.”  She stamped her foot, becoming more worked up.  “And she’s got this idea that it’s not something people have to hide, and that they shouldn’t hide it.  She’s only right on one of those counts… But not all of us can have a life like hers.  LGBT is only four letters, and they’re the only four letters most people know.  And some people aren’t as forgiving.”

           There was some other story behind Alix’s words. Something in it… almost stirred in Marc. Marc loved stories, usually, but he felt like this was one he shouldn’t touch.

           “How many?” asked Marc suddenly, not lifting his head.

           Alix waited.

           “How many letters are there?”

           Alix grimaced.  “Too many to count.  And only those four get top billing.”  She crouched to his level.  “Unfortunately, not everything can fit into those categories.  Sometimes it’s so much harder to know what you are.  But that’s how you have to start, and that’s all you need to do to start.  I mean, know who you are.”

           “I  _don’t._ ”

           “Well…”  Alix cut to the chase.  “Did you ever think to check?”

           “ _Look_?” Marc’s head shot up, frustration evident in his furrowed brow.  “What do you mean  _look?_ ”

           “You experience dysphoria, Rose told me that much. But not all the time, sometimes you identify as male, female, or something else.”  She tapped the floor patiently.  “At least, that’s how I heard it.  Is it right? Now did you ever think to  _look those symptoms up_?”

           They sat in silence for several minutes as Alix’s question bored into Marc’s brain.

           “I think I did,” he admitted.  “A long while back, I thought about it.  I talked myself out of it and never brought it up again. I thought someone might come and read over my shoulder, or my parents would look at my history.”

           “Have they…”  Alix stared incredulously.  “Do your parents actually do that?  Look at your history?”

           He paused.  “I don’t know,” he whispered.  “Maybe?”

           “ _Marc…_ ” she sighed.  “Never mind, I already looked it up anyway.”  She pulled out her phone.  “Genderqueer, we’re pretty sure, right?  That’s what’s supposed to be covered by the ‘T’ in LGBT- for transgender.”  She gestured in no particular direction.  “To most people, that just means identifying with the gender opposite to yours, but the definition is actually a lot bigger.”

           “How?”

           “How many genders do you think there are?”

           “Uhhh… two?”

           “Okay,” she said, pulling him off the ground and depositing him on a beanbag chair.  “Sit up, let me learn you something.”  She opened her phone to a webpage.  “Well, I don’t know if I’m actually qualified to give a dissertation on this, but I’ll try. Gender isn’t really black-and-white, it’s more on a spectrum.  Modern science has proven this, it’s been out in the open for years.”  She continued the talk, glancing down at her phone every once in a while for guidance.  “Most people identify closely with the gender that corresponds to what they were assigned at birth.  Some identify with the opposite gender.  That’s a binary transgender.”

           Making sure Marc was caught up with that, she continued.  “ _Some_  people identify with something else, in between or disconnected from the ends. They might be more feminine or more masculine, they might identify as  _both_  male and female, or they might have no actual sense of their own gender.  These people are ‘non-binary’ transgender, and there’s a whole bunch of other categories in that, and I don’t really have time to get through them all.”

           “Wait…” Marc stopped her.  “Why are you doing this?  What are you even doing?”

           “To put it in terms you’ll understand?  You need the right word.   _Badly_.”  She put away her phone.  “Let’s just say I know what that feels like.”

           “You’re telling me I’m… that’s there’s  _actually…_ ” At a loss for words, he only pointed at himself.

           Alix nodded.  “I found… well, gender’s a spectrum, and there are some people who sort of bounce around that spectrum.  Their gender isn’t fixed, it changes from day to day, even over the course of the day. And they  _do_  still get dysphoria sometimes, I checked.”  She paused, making sure Marc heard.  “They’re called ‘gender-fluid.’”

           Gender… fluid.

           Gender…  _fluid?_

           The word fluid, as Marc knew it, meant gaseous or liquid. Shifting, retaining mass, but with the capacity to change in volume when referring to a gas.  As a liquid, a fluid has a fixed mass and volume, but unfixed structure, filling available space in its container.

           Gender… fluid.

           Fluid in regards to gender.  Gender changing volume and form to fit some container… himself?

           That sounded so… promising.

           No.  It couldn’t be that simple, right?  Could it be there was  _actually_  a word for his type of wrong?

           “Marc?”  Alix nudged him.  “You okay, bud?”

           Marc’s expression didn’t change.  He answered as honestly as he could.  “Uhhh, I don’t know.”

           “I need to know, before we get our hopes up…” She looked him square in the eyes and asked, iron laced into her voice, “ _Does that sound right to you?_ ”

           “I don’t know,” he repeated.

           “Okay.”  She nodded. “I guess you don’t have to.  Well,” she tilted her head sympathetically.  “Just keep it in mind.  I mean, this is a pretty accepting, patient neighborhood.  You can take as much time as you need to get comfortable.”

           “Thank you.”  And then he said, “What did you mean?”

           “About?”

           “You said I needed a right word?  And you knew how that felt?”  He looked at her inquisitively. “What did that mean?”

           For a moment, Marc thought she was going to break something.  But then, Alix’s face mellowed into something more… acquiescing.

           “I wasn’t always this friendly,” she admitted.  “I would go so far as to say… I was an absolute shit.  Stop laughing.”  He wasn’t, though he had considered it.  “I was looking at everyone who had someone they called their own.  I watched them stumble over themselves like they had something to prove, even to their ruin.  And I couldn’t see why.”  She rubbed her eyes, and for a second, some freak trick of the light must have happened, because Marc almost thought he saw tears welling up.  “I don’t know why Nathaniel stuck around me.  But he was pretty much the only one who kept me from physically hurting people.  Cause as far as I knew, either the whole world was completely batshit crazy or I was, and that just made me  _angry_.” Her fists clenched tight, her eyes shut. “I needed someone to tell me I wasn’t crazy.  And he was that someone for me.”

           “I’m sorry.”

           “Forget about it.”  She sniffed.  No, he was sure this time, Alix was actually showing an emotion!  “Anyway… Nate cares about you a hell of a lot, Shakespeare.”  She looked at him, half-threatening and half-impressed.  “He doesn’t do that lightly.  He doesn’t talk, or smile, or laugh with anyone as much as he does with you and me.  Like hell I’m letting one of the people he cares about go through what I did.”

           Marc couldn’t believe his eyes.  He wasn’t aware the skater could be this vulnerable, and yet still simultaneously command respect.

           After everything Nathaniel had done for him…

           After Alix had laid her heart bare after he snapped at her…

           There was no choice in his mind.  He couldn’t let either of them down.  For some stupid reason which Marc couldn’t gather, they both cared about him.

           “What do I have to do?”

           “Nothing.  You don’t have to do anything.  Well,” she held up a finger.  “No, there’s one thing.”

           “What?”

           “Relax.”

           “Oh.”  Despite the situation, Marc allowed himself to laugh a little.  “That’ll be the day.”

           “Heh.”  She leaned forward and clapped him on the back.  “You’re alright, dude.”  She stopped awkwardly.  “Are you a dude?”

           Marc had asked himself the same question many times, if not exactly worded that way.  Well if his gender did change, then it shouldn’t matter what he was before.  That thought scared him, but ignoring everything else, and just looking at right now…

           “Sure?”  He shrugged helplessly.  “I guess?”

           “Cool.”  Alix turned to go.  “I’ll keep my mouth shut.  Rest is up to you.”  She snatched her hat back off the table.  “Gonna need this.  I’m gonna go give Rose a further piece of my mind.”

<<<<<>>>>>

           Marc had Nathaniel’s number.  He had never used it to call him, only to text, but tonight…

           “So…”

           “Yeah,” Marc said.

           “Wow,” Nathaniel agreed.  “Have you told your parents?”

           “I mean…”  Marc glanced at his closed bedroom door.  “I haven’t.  You’re literally the second person I’ve told.”

           “I’m honored.  Are you going to?”

           “I’ve thought about it.”  He turned away from the door.  “Maybe when I’m more sure.  I mean… they know I’m not normal, but I don’t think they know how deviant I am.”

           “Parents don’t understand half the stuff their kids can.”  Nathaniel laughed over the line.  “Imagine how mine felt, raising someone with Asperger’s.”

           “What?”  Marc hadn’t expected that.

           “Yep.  I mean, you told me your major malfunction, I might as well tell you mine.”

           Oh.

           Oh  _wow_.

           “I’m likewise privileged.”

           Nathaniel laughed heartily.  “Thanks.  I don’t really tell people, but sometimes I get the feeling I’m obvious about it.”

           Marc could relate.   _‘I’m surprised you haven’t realized my giant crush on you yet.’_

           Aloud, he decided to grill him for details.  “So, you have Asperger’s?  What does that actually mean?”

           “Well, it’s… it’s difficult for me to express my emotions and interpret others.  But it’s pretty different for everyone.”  Marc heard Nathaniel gulp.  “Basically, I’m… I’m in my own head a lot of the time, and it’s difficult for me to sort of see and interact beyond that.  Especially with people.  I’m not very good with people.  Communicating.  The works.”

           “Okay.  Out of curiosity, does the art factor into that?”

           “Started out as a therapy exercise,” he admitted.  “Then I just started doing it.  I use it to organize my thoughts, illustrate my emotions, and… well, some of it is escapism, probably, let’s face it.”

           Once again, Marc could relate.

           “I mean, my folks are pretty much used to  _my_  crazy.  So, like, if your parents kick you out, I don’t think mine would be opposed to harboring a fugitive.”

           “See?”  Marc assured. “You  _can_  be clever.”

           “Sometimes.”  He could almost hear the smile.  “We’re both deviants.”

           “Yeah.  I don’t know if all this anxiety’s good for my health.  Maybe I’ll try taking Alix’s advice, see if that works.”

           “Smart.  She’s good at advice.  It’ll be good to see you relax.  And… I wouldn’t mind if you decided to be yourself more.”

           “Whatever I am, it’s genderqueer, which is apparently a  _much_ bigger category than I thought it was.”

           “So, if your gender changes, what are you now?”

           “Well right now I’m…” Marc trailed off. Something about that sentence was going to end weirdly for him. “That’s weird.  I was… a boy earlier, but now I feel…”  He paused.  “Kinda girly, I guess?  I mean… huh.”

           “Huh,” Nath agreed.

           He gripped onto the phone.  “Yeah,” he said, steeling his breath.

           Was he?

           Was “he” steeling “his” breath?

           He had to try… Marc closed his eyes and thought one forbidden word.

            _‘She.’_

           It fit.

           It felt  _amazing_.

           She…  _she_  lowered the phone from her (her!) ear.

           She laughed.  She  _giggled_ , even.

           She had tried referring to herself with other pronouns before, but she had always concluded that, since she always eventually defaulted to male, that calling herself something different wasn’t the issue. It occurred to her that she may have been right all along, only in the wrong way.  Pronouns  _were_  the issue, but not in the permanent sense, like she had considered to be the only option.

           She smiled.   _Her_  smile.   _Her_. Damn face.

           She spared a glance in the mirror, but she was disappointed to see  _him_  again.  Though, as she scrutinized her reflection, she saw something she had never seen: a light of sorts, seeming to come from her eyes, reflecting the overhead bulbs. It struck her that her eyes had never seemed this deep before.  There was something completely new in her gaze, and even her expression and stature, and she realized immediately what it was.

           Life.

           And this life emboldened the green in her irises, the darkness of her eyelashes, the pink of her lips and the warm blush of her cheeks.

           It was still his face.  But, it was  _hers_ , too, dammit.

           “Marc, you okay?”

           She nearly dropped the phone.  She had completely forgotten Nath was still there.  _Marc_ , he’d called her.  She’d have to fix that.  She might want a gender-neutral name.

           She stopped.   _‘No,’_  she mused,  _‘one thing at a time.’_

           “Yeah,” she said in her scratchy, pubescent, tenor voice.  She also made a note to practice with that some more.

           “You went kinda silent there.  You sure?”

           “I’m fine.”  She gulped.  “Never better.”

           And by Golly, she meant it.

           “Damn.”

           “What?”

           “Something’s right.”

<<<<<>>>>>

           Nathaniel stared at the ceiling of his bedroom.  He should have gone to sleep a while ago, but that had never stopped him before.

           He thought of Marc as he had always known Marc- as a boy. Easy enough: short black hair done up in the back, the red hoodie he always wore hung over his shoulders, pale skin that blushed easily.  And he couldn’t forget the eyes.  Two eyes that were forest green.  Sharp, crisp eyes, to match the sharp mind behind them.  Sharp, spry, creative, like a colorful… sword.  The metaphor got away from him.

           The eyes were the first thing that caught his attention, the first physical detail about Marc that he had truly noticed.

           Alright, it was easy to see him as a boy, but what if he was a girl?  His – sorry,  _her_  – black hair… well, it wouldn’t change much.  Doing hair up in the back is a common girl thing, right?  And the green eyes and blush wouldn’t change either.  Now that he thought about it, Marc herself wouldn’t change. Well, she might be less depressed, maybe a bit more open about her emotions once she saw how she’d be accepted by everyone else.  Maybe she’d be even quicker with her amazing words, if that was even possible.  But those were really just boons, weren’t they? He couldn’t see any way that Marc being a girl would pose a problem to their friendship.  And he could see Marc as a girl pretty easily, with her short stature and tendency to wear makeup.  He envisioned her wearing something girly.  Probably not a skirt.  Would she wear her hoodie lower down her arms?  Maybe do her makeup a little more?  Even if it was only in front of him, he’d be happy to know she was feeling free.

           In his vision, she was smiling, and he liked it when Marc smiled.

           Well, what about something neither boy nor girl? Marc’s physical features shifted again in his mind, again only changing in how the writer carried themselves. Still brilliant, still humble, still Marc.  Maybe just a little makeup, to smooth the edge off their masculinity. Sunglasses?  No, they’d never wear sunglasses under any circumstances.  A hat, maybe.  What was Marc without their gender anyway?  Same black hair, green eyes, rosy blush.  Same demure attitude, same affectionate smile, same incredible creativity.  Why did Marc need a defined,  _certain_  gender when they had so much else in addition?

           He continued to lay on his bed, processing this. Then, as he reached the conclusion, he started to blush.

           “God… damnit,” Nathaniel muttered, covering his face.  “They’re still hot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, Marc didn’t blush. I didn’t say anyone else wouldn’t. And I did have the OTHER kind of blush at the beginning so…
> 
> Yeah. I’m just gonna pretend this makes sense.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated. This one was really fun to write, as you can tell from my unnecessarily long word count. I swear, I don’t usually go this long.
> 
> But hey, I think I made something pretty cool here. Anyway, I’m gonna post this before it’s past the deadline, so… bye for now, I guess.


	6. Day 6: Collab | Working Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... by my clock, this is officially late. Sorry to people who were waiting.
> 
> Anyway, next-to-last chapter, as always I finished it about 5 minutes before posting it, my punishment for procrastinating the three weeks' notice we had on this. This one's a change, in that it's the only work that actually resembles the prompt.
> 
> Anyway, I was just trying to get this done, and there might be some typos. Please enjoy anyway.

           Marc didn’t know what he was.  Today was weird: he didn’t feel girly anymore after last night, but at the same time he didn’t think the “he” suited him today.  He realized this must have been what Alix was talking about before, about non-binary gender.

           Being something that wasn’t a boy or a girl was  _trippy._   Marc had felt it before, probably, but knowing what it was (which felt obvious now, considering… well, everything he was currently feeling) made it… something.  For all the words he knew, he couldn’t peg one for the experience.

           It occurred that he ought to have been surprised by how quickly he had taken to reconsidering his pronouns.  But then, that’s what his gender did, didn’t it?  Didn’t he always know that his gender did that?  Hadn’t that been such a large source of his anxiety for years?

          And now he was just rolling with it.

          That morning, he had glanced at himself in a mirror, per his usual routine.  His old adjectives, “Not him again” and “Could be worse” were absent this time.  Instead, he had felt heavy.  Overdressed, perhaps, only in his own skin.

          But he could live with that.

          It still stank, because French didn’t  _have_  a third-gender pronoun.  That meant that, regardless of his actual self, he had to use male pronouns.

          So, he comfortably got dressed, did up his face in a way he thought would suit him, and left for school.

<<<<<>>>>>

          Something was different that afternoon.  Alix wasn’t in for some reason, which automatically meant the art teacher (he still kept forgetting his name) was more relaxed.  Juleka and Rose were separated, for once.  Rose was sitting in a corner, feverishly scribbling down notes in her pad.  Juleka was in the opposite corner, reading a horror novel, and her ankle was shackled to a protruding pipe.

          He approached Juleka cautiously, eyeing her restraints warily. “Did, uh…” He glanced up at the teacher, making sure he wasn’t listening.  “Did Alix tell you?”

          “Yeah, she got your text.”  Juleka glanced up meaningfully at her girlfriend, by herself in the corner. “Lucky  _someone_  in this club has their head on straight.”

          Marc chuckled.  “I don’t know if we can say that, there’s like  _one_  straight person in this club.”

          Juleka smiled for a second, then went back to reading her book. “And where was she, huh?  Crazy overworked, fixing up stuff our  _last_  class rep neglected.  Notice she couldn’t drop by all week?”  She calmly flipped the page she was on.  “Once again, Chloé got us into another fine mess that Marinette’s gotta pull us out of.   _Again_.”

          “What?” said Marc.  “No, I meant… wait, Marinette’s  _straight?_ ”

          The musician shrugged.  “So she claims.  It  _is_  impolite to assume.”  As normal, her expression and tone betrayed little.

          “Biggest shock of my week,” was Marc’s jested reply.  “But I was talking about Nathaniel.”

          “Hm?  Oh yeah.” She pulled up one hand to do finger-quotes.  “ _‘Straight.’_   That’s definitely an adjective that can describe him.  Marc, have you  _seen_  the way he draws Chat Noir?”

          “Of course, what about it?”

          “Well, maybe you’re both blinded by the superhero’s skintight leather, but the boy is  _not_  that ripped.”

          Rose hummed loudly.  Juleka glanced up at her.

          “I’m not trying to push anything, unlike  _some_  people,” she protested.  “I’m merely pointing out that he should have already noticed by now, in a manner he will not pick up on for purposes of dramatic irony.”

          “What’s going on?” he asked. “And what’s with you two?”  He looked at the chain.  “And… that?”

          “She’s on probation,” explained Juleka.  “Until she realizes what she did was wrong.”

          “Probation of what?”

          “Getting to run my hands through that soft, dark hair,” Rose replied for her, rubbing her fingers over the pages of her lyrics.  “Holding her close to me, closing my eyes and breathing in her clove-scented perfume.  Feeling the warmth of a heart matched beat-for-beat with mine.”

          Marc looked back at Juleka.  She was nose-deep in her book, but her forehead was sweating, her knuckles were white, and she refused to look anywhere near where Rose was sitting.

          “Is that why you’ve chained yourself to this pipe?”

          Juleka whimpered a little before answering.  “It’s funny, in a tragic sort of way.”

          “So, what’s holding Rose back?”

          “Pity, mostly.”

          “This isn’t about the makeup thing, is it?” questioned the writer.  “I don’t blame Rose for anything that happened.  I mean, it worked out, sort of.”

          “Yeah, no thanks to me,” sniffed the poet. “If I’d have known…”

          “Hey.”  He approached her and offered his hand.  “Hindsight is 20/20.”

          “Still.”  She rubbed the brimming tears from her eyes.  “I was such an idiot, and you had to go through all of that because of me.”

          “You’re still the first one who listened.  Let’s be honest, that could have gone a  _lot_  worse.”

          “I overreacted.”  She looked down and continued to write, though it was mostly an excuse to avoid Marc’s eyes. “I thought I knew what was happening, and I thought I could help.  I was wrong to try and do it by myself without seeing a second opinion.”  Sniffing, she closed the notebook.  “I’m sorry.”

          “ _Oh…_ ” groaned Juleka.  “ _So close_ , Rose.  Come on, I know you can do it.”

          “Do what?”

          “We aren’t be allowed to touch each other until she figures out  _exactly_  where she went wrong.  She’s got most of it, but I’m not allowed to tell her the last one.”

          “Okay, but  _why_  are you doing,” he gestured wildly at both girls, “this?”

          “Because I don’t have the key and Rose is  _really_  trying, bless her.”

          He looked between the two of them a few times, both of them equally miserable.  “I get the feeling this wasn’t your guys’ arrangement.”

          “It was Alix’s,” admitted Juleka.  “We both went along with it.  The chain was my idea, though.  It’s the cruelest and most elaborate punishment ever devised, who do you  _think_  dreamt it up?”

          “I mean,” Marc disputed, “I wouldn’t have pegged her  _specifically_.”  Particularly not after their little heart-to-heart yesterday.

          “Never tick off someone with a small body-mass-to-temper ratio,” Rose advised.  “Especially if everyone in her family is an ancient history buff.”

          “What’s that got to—”

          “Look, she knows a little something about torture.”

          “Ah,” Marc commented, thoroughly confused and only pretending to understand.  “You two look like you’re busy, I’ll leave you to it.”

          He quietly took his seat at the back of the room, leaving the two to sort out their issues in peace.

           All things considered, life was pretty good.

          So why was Marc still feeling so anxious?

          Nathaniel crept in through the door with his head down, answering the question.

           “Nathaniel,” Juleka said.  “Unlock me.  I need to go use the bathroom.”

           “Sure thing.”  Nath approached her, holding something else up.  “Brought your headphones, too, you left them in class.”

           “It won’t work.  She’s stuck in my head.”

Rose cast a saddened, dramatic gaze towards the writer in the back. “Pray you don’t become like us, Marc.”

           Marc blushed.  Of  _course_  Rose figured it out.  She probably told Juleka, too.

           Yet  _another_  thing to watch out for.

            _‘Wait, so **is**  Nathaniel straight or not?’_

           Nathaniel joined him at their usual table once Juleka had been freed.  “Hey.”

           “You know,” Marc bet, “one has to wonder if that’s some sort of metaphor for something.”

           The artist burst out laughing, but quickly shut himself up when he realized he was making noise.  “Yeah,” he confessed.  “Probably. But they’re good for each other. Rose helps Juleka’s self-esteem, Juleka keeps Rose grounded.”

           “Yeah.  They really are kinda fun to write.  Speaking of…”

           “Right!  Back to work.”

<<<<<>>>>>

           “If we end off our comic there, Rose is never going to forgive us.”

           “I know,” expressed Nathaniel, glancing over at the person in question.  She was the only other student who hadn’t gone home yet.  Volume up high in her earbuds, she wasn’t even looking at them. “But this story is way too interesting for one issue.  With a cliffhanger like that, she’ll keep breathing down our necks to make more.”  He blushed, realizing he had gotten ahead of himself.  “I mean, if you’re okay with… I’ve really liked working with you and I want to—”

           “Yes!” Marc blurted with a blush of his own.  “I mean, um, yes.  I would… I would love to keep working with you.”

           “Okay.”  He turned his attention back to the work.  “So, if we end the issue with Princess Fragrance’s reveal, then that’s going to take a full-page panel.”  He drew a border inside another blank page.  “Right, so we’ve got that planned out.  Now to just get cracking on those last few pages.”  He surveyed the pages of blank boxes in front of him, each with a little note of what went in each.  “And we know what has to be said at each bit, so if you want to edit specific dialogue, now’s the time to do that.”

           “Cool.  I’ll get on top of that.”

           Marc’s brain suddenly took a dive, and he hastily tried to delete the previous sentence from his brain.

           Each of them had the plans for everything, so they didn’t see a reason to talk much, a silence Marc respected even if he himself wasn’t comfortable with it.  If it made Nathaniel more comfortable, he could swing that.

           His brain needed to stop it immediately with the double-entendres.

           The two of them worked for another few minutes, with only the sound of their pens scratching their paper.

           Nathan, surprisingly, was the one who broke the silence.  “So… last night you were a girl.”

           Marc exhaled nervously.  He wasn’t wrong, but it still felt weird to acknowledge the elephant in the room.  “Uh, yeah.”

           “Earlier yesterday you were a boy.”

           “Yep.”

           “So…”  Nath bit his lip, which Marc had to avert his gaze from.  “I don’t want to just assume, in case I get it wrong.  What are you now?”

           Marc had been stewing this over while he worked. Truth be told, he found he didn’t actually care as much today.  He knew he wasn’t a boy, and he wasn’t a girl, but… he wasn’t really much of anything else either.

           “I don’t think I’m anything right now.”

           “Really?”

          “Nothing, right now.”  He shrugged.  “I’m just… nothing.”

          “How does that work?”

          “Search me.”  He shrugged once again.  “I don’t have much of a gender today, I guess.”

          “So…” Nathaniel paused.  “It’s like there’s no… asterisks.”

          “Asterisks?”

          Nath winced.  “Sorry. I was trying to be poetic, y’know, like you?  You have this great, flowing… your words are just, they  _click_.  Does that make sense?  It probably doesn’t make sense, forget I said anything.”

          Marc smiled at the compliment, going back to his journal.  “They’re just words.”

          “They’re  _not_ , though, alright?” he declared.  “They’re not just words, they’re  _you_! The way you get words to line up, only  _you_  can do it that way.  You’re so… smart, and creative, and… your writing style is just great.”

          “Th-thanks.”

          “I mean that.”  Nathan looked away, holding his arm sheepishly.  “You’re great, you’re really…”  He shut his eyes.  “Forget it.”

           Marc blinked.  “What was that?”

           “Never mind.  Where you at?  Panel 9-g, the security guard is revealed to be possessed, Ghostlight comes out, and we need a good, punchy line to start the fight with.”

           “No…”  Marc closed his journal.  “This can wait.  What were you going to say?”

           “Nothing important.”

           “I doubt that.”  He reached over the table and took his hand.  “Nath, whatever it is, it’s important.  You want to say it, say it.”

           Nathaniel blushed.  His mouth opened and closed, flopping like a fish, and he started to sweat.

           Marc looked down and realized  _oh wait, he was actually holding Nath’s hand._   He instantly let go, which seemed to shock Nath back into coherency.

           “I can’t,” he told him.

           “You can’t?”

           “No,” he restated.  “I’ll just mess it up, just forget it.”

           “I’ll listen.”  This gave the author pause.  “I’ve been keeping up with you for the last week.  I’ll understand what you’re trying to say.”

           His face had determination etched into it. He opened his mouth and began.

           “Oh!” Rose said suddenly, breaking his momentum. “Look at the time, I have to… go make an excuse.”  She scooched off of her seat and sashayed out the door.  “I’ll leave you two alone,” she called back, leaving the door ajar.

           Both collaborators stared after her.  The art teacher glanced in her direction, then he, too, left the room.

Nathaniel and Marc were alone.  Nathan, only a little deterred, summoned back what little courage he had left.

“You…”  He stopped. “You’re my friend, right Marc?”

           “Yeah,” was the immediate, nodding answer.  “I hope so, anyway.”

           “And… I’m your friend, right?”

           “Of course.”

           “You… you’re so much of a better person than I am.” The boy gulped.  “No matter… who you are.  And today, it’s like… I’m so glad I get to see you happy.”

          “Uh…”  Marc nodded again in appreciation. “Thanks.”

          “I mean, look at you, you’re happier, even if you’re still the same person who’s come in to help me with this stupid thing—”

          “Nathan, it’s not stupid—”

          “It  _is_ , though, and sometimes it feels like we’re the only people here who care about it.  Only now you’ve changed, and you’re so much more relaxed now, and… And it’s  _good_  for you, right?  You get to be so much more confident.  Like just now, when you said you had no gender, you said it and you were  _sure._ ”

          “I’m still not really sure.”

          “You  _sounded_  sure, and that’s better than I can do.  With pretty much anything.  I’m not strong or witty, but  _you_  are. There’s just so many little things, here and there, and I can’t  _concentrate_  right.  There’s just so many things about—”

          The sudden halt from the speed at which Nathaniel had been talking gave Marc whiplash.

          Marc looked at him, expecting him to finish what he was saying.

          “I can’t…” he mumbled.   “Just… that’s it, then.  I don’t know how I was going to end that.”

          “You feeling okay, Nathan?” queried Marc.  “I don’t think I’ve heard you talk so much in one go.”

          “It’s…nothing.”  Nath took a deep breath.  “I’ve been trying to… think of things I wanted to say—”  He got out of his seat, turning away.  “Never mind, it’s stupid.”

          “No,” Marc stated, standing up behind him.  “You’re not.  If you need to say something, just say it.”

          “I think—”

          “Go on.”

          “I think you’re _—”_ Nathaniel swallowed his tongue and hunched over, covering his mouth.

          “Nath!”  Marc rushed to his aid.  “Breathe slowly, okay?  Are you alright?  You look like you’re going to puke.”

          “I didn’t say anything, just…”  Nath’s voice broke.  “ _Please_ , just drop it, I don’t wanna…”

          Marc couldn’t believe it.  Nathaniel, whose creativity knew no bounds, was censoring himself.

          That could not happen.

          And Marc needed to know.

          “What if I don’t want to drop it?”

           “Marc,  _please…_ ”

           “What if I don’t want you to be afraid to talk to me? What would you say if you  _could_  talk to me?”  He looked into his icy-blue eyes, piercing through with his warmth.  “What if you were about to say what I thought you were going to say?  What if it’s  _that_  important that I hear how that sentence was going to end?”  He snatched Nath’s hands from where they had covered his mouth and cradled them in his own. “And what if, by some miracle, I cared about how you felt and what you thought?”

           Nath stared back at him, and both of them reeled from the shock of Marc’s outburst.

           Then Nathaniel slowly started shaking his head.

           “Don’t do this… don’t do that to me,” he murmured. “Stop doing that, you’re going to just regret it.”

           Marc tightened his grip.  “Just say what you wanted to.  Stop putting up all these filters in your head.”  He grasped at something.  “Do the thing about the asterisks.  What did you mean by that?”

          Nath took a deep breath and tried.  “Well… right now, you’re… no gender.  No asterisks.  No added stress.  You’re just… Marc.  Pure Marc.” He scowled.  “I mean… that’s not good, is it, that’s not clever.  Cause you’re not just genderless, are you?”  He wrenched his hands from Marc’s ironclad grip. “Look, you could be a girl and I’d… you’d still be you.  Same for if you end up a boy.  You just get to be you.  And… I like it when you’re you.”  He stopped, looking to Marc for criticism.

           After a moment, Marc smiled warmly.  “That was pretty poetic.”

           “Y-you do it so much better than me.”

           They both smiled.

           “C-can I—” Nath gulped, shutting himself down.

           “What?”

           “N-nothing.”  He shook where he stood.  “Forget it.”

           “No chance.”  Marc wasn’t sure where this courage was coming from, but he didn’t shake it away.  “You don’t have to filter yourself.  I won’t judge anything you say from here on out, you hear me?  It’s the least I can do for what you and Alix have done for me.”

           Nathaniel drew closer suddenly, his hand touched Marc’s cheek, and their lips  _barely_  touched.  For a single half-second, their lips brushed against one another, and then Nathan drew back like Marc was a burning stove.

           Both creators were left in a state of shock.

           “Oh… my… God.”  Marc gaped.  “You…”

           “Cute,” Nathaniel muttered.  “I was gonna say cute.  Before.”  He looked down.  “I’m… sorry, I’ll just…”  He made his way to his bag, tripped on a chair, and started to bolt for the door.

           Seeing Nathan start to panic and run away triggered something in him.  He suddenly found a good reason to raise his voice.

           Nathaniel had given him strength.  Now he had to return the favor.

           “Hey, get back here!” Marc called out, and the artist stopped. “I’ve had a crush on you for over a full month now.  You get a do-over.”  Marc surged forward, turned him back around, and kissed him again, this time much more solidly.

           A few seconds passed and they separated.  “You have a crush on me?” Nath said, confused.

           Marc laughed a little at his expense.  “There were times, even just this week, where something you did just completely killed me, stone dead.”

           Nath blinked.  “Do you want to go out sometime?”

          “You see,  _this_  is what I’m talking about.”  He pulled him close and hugged him tightly.  “Son of a gun,  _yes_ , but don’t give me heart attacks like that.”

          Nath’s arms awkwardly returned the embrace.  “I, uh… I’ve never had a… an actual date before. What’s the, uhm… protocol, here?”

           “Are you serious?”

           “Half-serious.”

           “Well don’t worry.  It’ll be a learning experience for the both of us.”

            _We have always belonged together!_

           Nathaniel tore away from the embrace, turning sharply towards the door.  “Rose, what the hell!?”

           The little pink devil held the phone up high, volume turned all the way up.   _We will always belong together!  Just keep moving on!_

           “Sorry,” Rose giggled.  “My hand slipped.”

           The collaborators looked at each other.  Nodding a silent agreement, they chased after Rose together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed. I'm almost done, then I've got a new project I'm working on (much more lax this time).
> 
> Comments are appreciated. I want to take what I learned from this and apply it to other projects, so fire away with those nitpicks.


	7. Day 7: Future | "Rough Draft"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's the last bit. Shorter, this time, and it's technically late. Go figure.  
> I just want to say thank you to everyone who read this as I wrote it up, and who left wonderful comments to let me know I was going in the right direction. You lot are just the nicest people, and I was really unsure about doing this but I'm so glad I did. I'd like to specially call out findmeinthevoid, who stuck with this since Day 1. Without her encouragement I probably wouldn't have tried as hard as I did to finish it (even at the risk of some embarrassing typos).  
> I'd also like to thank everyone who participated in Marc Appreciation Week. I haven't read much of your stuff yet, this whole process has been absolute hell, and I can't wait to finally relax and look at all your guys' stuff.  
> And of course, thanks to seasonofthegeek for putting this on. Credit to Thomas Astruc for the characters, and Hope Morphin for the character's inspiration. All disclaimers were in Chapter one.  
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed. Here's the last of it.

           Desperately, Rose pounded on the door to the house’s basement.

           “Please!” she shouted.  “Anyone!  Help!”

           But she realized it was no use.  No one was coming down to save her.

           All was silent and dark.

           Until she heard a noise from the far corner.

           “Is someone there?” she croaked, squinting in the darkness.

           She didn’t squint for long.  There was a bit of light in the room, though nothing was casting it.  It just  _existed_.

           Then, there shimmered into visibility a floating figure: a woman all in white.  White jumpsuit with a black cross over her chest and chains on her wrists near her gloves, white boots that hovered just above the ground, and a bright white cowl that sucked all other light from the room to feed its glow.  There was no color around the face, mouth, and eyes.  Her hair, which flowed around her head like twisting snakes, was a royal violet.

           Rose knew her immediately.  Akuma or not, she’d know that face anywhere.

           “J…  _Juleka_?” she gasped, horrified.  “It’s  _you?_ ”

           “Rose.”  The figure sneered.  “Where were you when I needed you?”

           “I…”  She struggled to make her words work.  “I was—”

           “You  _left_. You left me alone with a room full of strangers.”  The villain hovered higher, leering down at her.  “You do know how I get in crowds, right?  Typical; no one even noticed when I started breaking down.  No one even saw the butterfly come to me.”  She grinned maliciously, showing off pointed teeth.  “But they saw  _me_.  And  _oh_ , how they screamed.”

           “I-I thought you were having fun.”  Rose backed away from her akumatized girlfriend.  “I thought I’d just keep you from socializing.”

           “I wasn’t having  _fun_!  Or did you think because it was Halloween that the  _spook_  was in her element?”

           “I’m sorry!” she bawled.  “I just wanted you to be happy!”

           “I  _was_  happy, Rose.”  The specter came close and stared her in the face.  “I was always happy, standing next to you.  Didn’t you see that?”  She held up a gloved finger.  “Don’t answer that.  If you understood…” the chains on her wrists glowed an ominous purple, and her hands clenched into fists, “you wouldn’t have left me alone.”

           “Juleka… I’m sorry.  I didn’t know…”

           Ghostlight narrowed her eyes and raised her arm.  “Too little, too late.”

* * *

****Outside, Ladybug had finished tying up the police officers, just as they began to regain consciousness.

           “Alright,” she seethed.  “I’ve been having a bad night tonight, so I’m really not in the mood. Tell me where Ghostlight is  _right now._ ”

           One guard blinked awake.  “Ladybug?” he said.  “What are… what happened?”

           Chat Noir cursed.  “She must have released her hold.”

           “Thank goodness,” Reverser panted.  “These guys were  _tough_.  You guys do this all the time?”

           “We face mind-control baddies more often than not,” explained Mighty-Illustrator.  “They always go for one of us heroes, and we’ll end up having to fight them.  Usually Chat.”

           “Hey!” the feline hissed.

           As usual, it was Ladybug’s duty to keep the boys off each other’s throats.  “Possession’s not her main power, though, so it wasn’t as bad as it usually is.  Her poltergeist attacks ripped cars off the street. We’re lucky we’ve got our suits, or there’s no way we would’ve walked away from that.”

           “Yeah, but,” Reverser approached Ladybug, now nearing hysterics, “you’ve got a plan, right?”

           “Almost.  We’ve got to get close enough to land a hit and find her object.”

           Mighty-Illustrator looked back, at a house where many of the occupants were running out of it screaming.  “Well, looks like we’re getting that chance.”

           The heroes looked on as Ghostlight herself appeared in the doorway.  “Well, well,” she snarled.  “Four against one?  I thought superheroes had honor.”

           Ladybug struck a heroic pose.  “So many others have tried to take our miraculous before you, and now our team’s bigger than ever before.  You never stood a chance!”

           “Yeah!” shouted Chat Noir.  “Give up the ghost while you can!”

           “Not so fast, creeps,” their adversary cackled. “There’s been a slight change in plans, courtesy of my good friend Hawk Moth.  Let’s see… if one monster’s too much for the newbie to handle, how will he fare with  _two_?”  She held up two fingers.  “A phantom  _and_  a witch.”

           Ladybug grit her teeth.

           She had green skin and pink hair, styled like a blooming flower.  Familiar black garb, complete with a swirling masquerade mask, adorned her, but now she had a new black cloak to match Ghostlight’s.

           “ _Bonsoir_ , my pretties,” trilled Princess Fragrance, brandishing her perfume gun.  “Did you miss me?”

<<<<<>>>>>

           Rose stared at the page, then quickly flipped it back and forth over the back cover.  “There’s no more?” she whispered, flipping through as though searching for another, secret page.  “That’s it?”

           “That’s it,” Nath replied, smiling.  “You like it?”

           “How could you do this!?” she shrieked, almost lunging at the two of them.  “How dare you make me feel things and then stop writing!”

           Juleka laughed from behind him.  “That’s a good sign.  You got to neck-throttle levels of hiatus frustration.”  She leaned back in thought.  “Last one that did that was… was it the  _Warrior Duchess_  season 2 finale?”

           Rose spun on her heel.  “Don’t even bring that up.”

           Marc shrugged, fingering his copy of the draft. “Just be glad we got all  _this_  in one week.  I mean, it’s not perfect, and we haven’t even colored or proofread it. But, uh, I think it’s pretty good for a first try.”  There was a general chorus of agreement in addition to Rose’s insane cheers.

           “This was  _so_  worth putting off the budget meeting,” Marinette said, flipping through her own copy of the rough draft.  “Sorry I haven’t been in much.  But that was  _really_  fun, you guys, I can’t wait to see more.”

           “Well, we can’t wait to  _make_  more.”  Marc gestured to the issue.  “Consider this a sneak-teaser.”

           “PLEASE!” Rose screamed.  And then, quieter, she added, “But don’t over-stress yourself, your happiness and health are important.”

           Marc smiled.  “I’ll try.”  Nathan nudged him playfully, and he added.   “ _We’ll_  try.”

           “But don’t slack either,” Juleka countered, taking another look at Ghostlight.  “Dude, Nath, that’s an awesome outfit.  Way better than that plastic Barbie dress.”

           “Rose was a consultant on that,” her designer confessed.  “Coincidentally, consider it an anniversary gift.  A  _proper_  romantic supervillain rampage, coming soon.”

           Rose had stars in her eyes as she looked over at her.  “And sure to be just as cool as how we got together, right Julie?”

           “Yep.  Speaking of…” Juleka started to close the distance.

           “Upupup!” Rose halted, moving backwards and whipping out her phone.  “Wait for…” she checked the time.  “Two more minutes.”

           Nath raised an eyebrow.  “Are you  _still_  not allowed to hug each other?   _Alix…_ ”

           “Don’t look at me,” the suspect denied.  “Rose served her time already.”

           Juleka jerked her thumb at Rose.  “Yes, but now  _she_  wants to wait until our  _‘official’_  anniversary before I can kiss her again.”

           “May 19,” Rose recalled dreamily.  “2:39 p.m., she kissed me on the cheek in the middle of us taking a selfie.”

           “We both tripped and fell over right as she took it.”

           “It was so dashing of her.”  There was not a trace of irony in that assessment.  “I’ve got it framed over my bed.”

           “Not the worst selfie I’ve ever taken.”

           Marc was the only one who laughed at the punchline. Everyone else only pretended to.

“You didn’t happen to get the exact time I kissed you, did you?” Nath asked.

“Why?” Marc challenged.  “Fancy celebrating our one-day anniversary with a proper date?”

           “If you’d like to.  And if you’re free.  That superhero movie just came out.”

           “I’ve already seen it, though.”

           “Well, would you object to seeing it again?”

           “Not at all.”

           Marinette glanced between the two of them awkwardly. “I missed something, didn’t I.”

           Rose’s phone beeped.  She cheered, “It’s time!  It’s time!”

           “Yes!”  Juleka spread her arms.  Rose gleefully jumped into them, squeezing tight, and the goth peppered the top of her hair with kisses (the benefits of dating someone a head shorter than her).

           “Ugh,” Alix muttered, turning to Nath.  “Promise me you two won’t get like this.”

           “We’ll try,” Marc assured her.  “At least in front of you.”

           “In front of anyone.”  She shuddered.  “Why do sweethearts need to flirt in public?  They’re already together, they don’t need any more prompting.”

           “Well some people can’t help it,” Marc explained.  “I mean, look at his face.  That face was made for flirting.”  He turned to Nath.  “I hope you don’t mind me flirting at that face.”

           “Is that all I am to you?” he asked.  “Just a face?”

           “No… well, actually, yes.  But then I think most of us are faces, aren’t we?”

           “That’s rather bleak, isn’t it?  Treating a mask as the genuine article?”

           “Not really.  If you’ll permit me to wax poetic.”  Marc sat Nath down at a stool and looked at his face.  “You are… two crystal-blue eyes who see me for who I am.  You’re two ears who listen to me and a mouth that converses with me.”  Nathan started to blush in response, which prompted Marc to get closer and touch his cheek.  “Two blushing red cheeks I can hold, gorgeous red hair I can do this to…”  He ruffled up Nathan’s hair.  “And a nose I can do  _this_  to…”  He tapped the nose impishly.  “And two lips… well, maybe later.  And you’re the sum of all the expressions of every emotion I’ve seen you act on.  Don’t underestimate a face.  Especially not yours.  While its appearance is subject to change, it remains consistent for whoever uses it.”

           Nathan had turned about as red as his hair.  “Seriously, is that, like, effortless for you?  I don’t really know what to say to that.”

            Marc looked at him, prompting.

            “There’s no way I can top it,” he protested.  “It’s your words… your words are all so beautiful.”  Marc’s eyes won him over, and he sighed.  “Fine.  I’m no good with words, but I’ll try.”  Cheerfully, Marc ushered him off the stool and stole his seat.

           Nathan coughed and began.  “I don’t really think I saw you right.  Not until you were telling me how happy you were when you wrote.  I felt like I had found someone like me.”  He stopped talking, unsure how to proceed and eyeing the others, everyone nose deep in their comic, warily.

           “Hey,” Marc caught his attention.  “Don’t worry about anyone else.  And… I won’t judge anything you say.  Just try saying something.  Anything you want.”

           “We’re both screwed up in our own ways.  You just… you kept coming back, and I’d never be able to do that. I’d run away and hide, and pretend you didn’t exist.  I  _did_  do that, the first time.”  He frowned, remembering.  “That was a mistake.”  He shook his head, trying to focus.  “You have persistence.  You have wit, and you have charm and a style… just everything I wish I had.  And it was through all that, I got to know everything else—the  _whole_  thing.  I saw you, and… here we are.”  He bit his lip.  “I guess we’re a thing now?”

           “Sure thing,” Marc laughed.  “You did great, champ.”

           “No.  It didn’t really make sense.”

           His partner smiled.  “It never does.”  He leaned in once more, and was greeted by a warm set of lips chastely pressed on his own.

           Rose clapped softly, the teacher averted his gaze, and Juleka gave them a thumbs-up.  Even Alix had to smile.  “You guys rock,” she said.  “Now back to work, you two.”

           Only then did the boys realize that everyone was watching them.

           “Okay,” Marinette announced.  “I  _definitely_ missed something.”

            As Rose pulled her aside to fill her in, Nathaniel and Marc went to the back of the room where no one would bother them.  “Way to kill the mood, Alix,” Nath complained.

           “Thank you,” she bowed.  “It’s what I’m here for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a moron, I just realized acknowledgements were supposed to go last. Well, I'm too lazy to change it now.
> 
> Anyway, until I write again. I'm on tumblr as @friendlyneighborhoodborg. And if you liked this, be sure to check out @wearemiraculous' blog for the upcoming index of all the M.A.W. submissions.

**Author's Note:**

> Criticism is appreciated. Please let me know how I'm doing.


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